


He Kills People

by Tamtrum



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light BDSM, Psychological Torture, Shameless Smut, Some Plot, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 18:00:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8170759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamtrum/pseuds/Tamtrum
Summary: Sadists and masochists don't half get along well together
Or
A feeble excuse to write some Victor Zsasz smut





	1. The blame game

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very shameless work of smut because I absolutely loved Victor Zsasz in Gotham. I mean, he’s an S&M assassin in a designer suit, what’s not to love? There is nowhere near enough Victor in season 2, so I wondered what he’d be doing to amuse himself.
> 
> Plot is pretty thin on the ground here, but I somehow stretched it out to four chapters. And there are knives and blood and dark, twisted things - because Victor. Not that we'd have him any other way.

I lift my head slightly, raising a hand to my neck to pull at the thick leather collar with my index finger, shuffling it into a slightly more comfortable position over the bruises. I relax again, letting my head gently rest back down onto the patent leather doc marten serving as my pillow.

The TV is on; from my position, on my side and slightly curled up on the warm, furry rug, I can only see the bottom few inches of the screen, and the rest is obscured by a frosted glass coffee table. His work gear casts dark shadows on the table top – the leather holster neatly folded, twin guns lined up with their barrels obsessively parallel, phone placed meticulously between them and cufflinks to one side. 

I’m listening to the serious-sounding reporter drone on in her nasal, non-regional accent about the latest antics of the Maniax in Gotham. I close my eyes. I’m warm, comfortable, and blissfully relaxed. _Who should I thank for my current happy state?_

~~~

_My ex-boyfriend, Sean. I thought I was happy with him. It was so different to all my other relationships; trust, equality, freedom. Sure, it was a little tricky – he lived in LA, I was here in Gotham – but we made it work, taking turns to fly across the country once or twice a month, spending a couple or three days together whenever our schedules would allow._

_More than just worked really, it suited me. I was working long hours at WayneTech, maintaining and improving the hardware infrastructure for the various systems and engineering software being developed. 90 hour weeks were not unusual and I would’ve struggled with ‘normal’ dating._

_I thought it suited Sean too – he was with the Air Force, training and studying to be an aeronautical engineer. He had the time and freedom to dedicate to his studies and student activities, and the stability of a steady, supportive girlfriend who fucked his brains out a few days each month._

_When he was deployed to an aircraft carrier for four months to continue training, it was no big deal. We knew it was coming and felt prepared. Whenever he had access, he’d phone or message me, and so we were able to catch up most days. There was only a month left when suddenly…_

_“I feel like I don’t know you.”_

_“You never talk about your feelings.”_

_“I’ve changed. There’s so much I want to do and this relationship is restrictive.”_

_Pathetic excuses. How fucking dare he? Who the fuck did he think he was? I am fucking DELIGHTFUL!_

_I waited weeks for the depression to kick in, for the urge to curl up in a ball on the sofa and eat ice cream and cry for three days straight. It never came. All I felt was pissed off._

 

~~~

 

The man on the sofa behind me shifts, and my leash moves, the cold metal clasp attached to my collar falling onto my neck, derailing my train of thought. I open my eyes and roll onto my back so I can see him, moving my hands to lie across my naked stomach, my head still resting on his boot.

He’s leaning over me, forearms resting on his knees and hands loosely clasped together, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up at the cuff revealing pale skin decorated with hatch-mark scars, my leash looping around his wrist. I look up into dark, lashless eyes, trying to gauge his mood. He’s been tense this evening, ever since he got back from a job. He gets like this sometimes, and it’s best to be quiet and good, wait for the storm to pass.

There’s slight creasing at the corners, small upwards curl of the lip… _goading me_ , I decide, and feel safe turning my attention to the cuff of his black pinstripe trousers, catching the edge of the expensive material with the fingertips of one hand and tugging gently. My other hand is tracing over the healing cuts on my abdomen.

“Comfy, kitten?” His voice is low and soft.

“Mhmm,” I nod, looking back to his face. He’s tilted his head a little to one side, and his black tie has come away from his shirt. I move my hand from his leg and bring the other up, playing with the pointed end of silk.

“Bored?” He grins widely, eyes on my fingers. _Too far_. I take the hint and drop the material, instead resting my hands on the tops of my breasts, lightly stroking the purple-black bruises below my collarbone with a finger.

“Never,” I answer, my smile matching his. How could I possibly be bored while he’s here? The only time I’m bored is when he leaves. Then the whole world becomes so flat and grey and… meaningless. I hate it when he leaves. _Hate it_.

“Good girl.” He leans back, his attention focusing once again on the news programme.

I bend one leg at the knee, pushing down on my foot for purchase, and wriggle my shoulders into the soft fur of the rug. I wince as the pressure reminds me of the fresh scars on my back.

“Stop fidgeting, kitten.” The tone is clipped and my leash pulls up just a little, as if he’s tightened it around his fist. I freeze, breath hitching in my throat, waiting for any further repercussions.

After a few tense moments, he remains still and I relax again, closing my eyes.

_I could thank Mark for that day at the theme park._

 

~~~

 

_It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, just a message from an old college friend, totally out the blue and a week after the breakup. At the age of 28, I was embarrassed that I’d never been on a rollercoaster. My mother had been so controlling when I was growing up, worried that I’d get injured or killed – or, more likely, worried what the neighbours would say if I were injured or killed. Once I left home at 18, the next decade was a string of boring boyfriends and missed opportunities._

_I was so nervous for the first one, but I didn’t start out easy; a slick, modern ride with the rails overhead, huge drops, corkscrews, loops… Baptism of fire, I thought. After this one, I’d either love rollercoasters or hate them._

_As soon as I was clipped into the seat, I knew I was going to love it. The restraints were comforting and sinister at the same time. As the ride started and we moved forward up the first incline, the excitement built. There was no way out now, no getting off this ride, it was happening whether I liked it or not._

_Then the first drop was approaching, and I felt it: I might die. I might actually die, and there’s nothing I can do. But instead of feeling scared, I felt liberated and awake and fully alive. The danger, the lack of control. And then I screamed, screamed like I never thought I could._

_I was a panting mess when I stumbled out of my seat thirty seconds later. Mark grabbed my shoulder and gave me a concerned look._

_“Are you okay?” He’d asked._

_I felt the manic grin on my face and I couldn’t have stopped it for a million bucks. “Which one next?”_

 

~~~

 

The leg I have propped up is starting to tingle, and I know that unpleasant pins and needles are on their way if I don’t change position soon. I wiggle my toes a little, trying to encourage blood flow without noticeably fidgeting, but it has no effect. _I have to move. No fidgeting. I have to move._

I look up at Victor, but all I can see are his legs. I wonder how I can do this without being punished too badly for disobedience.

_Although_ , I smile to myself, _maybe he could use the distraction_.

I roll onto my stomach, tucking my knees underneath me and stretching my arms out in front of me, pushing my bare ass up into the air. Then I roll forwards onto my hands, pushing my hips into the floor, thrusting my chest out as I look up to the ceiling, straightening my legs behind me and stretching my toes to a point. It feels so good to stretch out, and I feel the blood rushing back into my leg.

I relax back into my first position, knees tucked beneath me again, ass in the air, arms in front of me, hands flat on the floor. I turn my head to look at Victor.

He hasn’t moved, but his eyes are running over the smooth contours of my body, his expression serious and dark. I know I’m in the shit and so I stay in my position and wait.

“What are you doing, kitten?” His voice is very low, almost a growl. _Deep, deep, deep in the shit_. Maybe deeper than intended. _Damn he’s in a bad mood_.

“Waiting,” I say softly.

“Waiting for what?” He leans forward, resting his arms on his knees again, almost absent-mindedly wrapping my leash around his hand and watching my face.

“Punishment.”

“Punishment?” His mouth laughs but his eyes don’t. “And why would I punish my pretty, pretty, pretty little kitten?” He looks over me again, hungrily, before meeting my gaze. “Hmmm?”

I lower my eyes, feigning intense curiosity in his boots. Suddenly I can’t find the words, I’ve been disobedient, _intentionally_ disobedient. Why did I have to move? Was pins and needles really so bad? _Focus. He needs this. He needs to get out of his head._

When I still don’t answer, there’s a warning yank on my leash.

“Kitten,” He growls the warning.

“Y-you said not to fidget, and I fidgeted,” My voice is small and I turn my face into my arms. _Bad, bad, bad._

I hear him stand up, sense movement above me. The TV shuts off with a soft click and then I feel the leash drop onto my back. 

“Stay.” I hear his soft footsteps on the rug and then louder as he moves onto the tiled floor, heading out the room. I strain my ears listening for him, but the house goes silent. _Silent because he’s gone_. I’ve taken it too far and he’s _left_ me.

I don’t move, don’t make a sound, breathing deeply through my nose. _Who should I blame for my current predicament?_

 

~~~

 

_My sister, Natasha. You need to get out, she said. It’ll be fun, she said. Go on, just a couple drinks, maybe you’ll see someone you like. A tumble with a stranger might make you feel better._

_I hadn’t thought I needed to feel better, I felt pretty great. Work had been busy and going well, I caught up with friends, had that amazing, awakening day at the theme park. Although… the idea of a good, hard fuck was appealing._

_In the end, I agreed, but only as long as we avoided mainstream clubs. I hated the commercial, churned out pop they played, almost as much as I hated the superficial, tangerine patrons. If the main goal was a one night stand, I argued, then I wouldn’t find someone I wanted in a club like that._

_So we agreed on an alternative style dive bar near Cathedral Square. It had a sort-of club upstairs with a dance floor and music, to keep my sister and her friends happy. Downstairs was darker and quieter, and I’d be able to nurse a few double vodka lemonades and chat up some random. It also meant I could dress in relative comfort – my mid-calf black doc martens with the roses embroidered up the sides, fishnets under black denim hotpants, tight black electro-cute t-shirt showing off my sleeve tattoos._

_My sister and her friends disappeared upstairs before finishing their first drinks, halfway through my second I popped to the ladies. I checked my makeup in the mirror – no lipstick, I hated it, always ended up going everywhere, but a lot of dark eyeshadow, smudged expertly with excessive black eyeliner. It was probably way too much, but I loved how it made my green eyes sparkle. I ran my hands over the sides of my head and then back through the centre of my peroxide-blonde hair. I loved the difference in texture; I kept the sides shaved velvety short, with the middle stripe a few inches long. I’d considered gluing the Mohawk up tonight, but that might discourage my potential victim from pulling my hair._

_When I got back to my table, he was sat there. Dressed sharply but all in black, pale, hairless, tall even when sitting. Fantastic cheekbones, strong jaw, piercing eyes. I bit my lip and smiled shyly at him. He was exactly what I was looking for, and he’d just dropped right into my lap._

_“You know, the drinks and jackets usually indicate a table is occupied,” I said, indicating the half-full glasses._

_“I know,” He said, lifting his glass to his lips with a black gloved hand, but he made no move to get up. That’s a good sign._

_“You’ve just missed my sister and her friends. They’ve gone upstairs.” The statement served two purposes: making sure he wasn’t looking for my gorgeous, model-esque sister, and letting him know I’m not alone. Safety first._

_He just nodded noncommittally. His eyes were dark and hungry, expression taunting, and he was making no attempt to disguise eyeing me up. I stood intentionally awkwardly, playing up the cute a little._

_“Sit,” he said eventually, and I moved to take the seat opposite him. “Not there. Come here, kitten.” He leaned back and draped one arm over the back of the couch, gesturing with his glass that I should sit next to him._

_I hesitated – I preferred to take things slower - but he was kinda gorgeous, and the way he called me ‘kitten’ tugged at something in my abdomen. Besides, this was what I was here for. So I sat down next to him and reached for my drink, clasping it in both hands to hide my excitement._

_I nearly dropped it when I felt his gloved fingers stroking my neck softly. I jerked my head to look at him, and froze. The look on his face was purely predatory. I glanced down and could see the grip of a gun beneath his suit jacket. I made a mistake sitting down next to this stranger._

_“Sshhh,” he soothed, increasing the pressure on my neck slightly to stop me from rising, and I looked back up at him. “Do you know who I am?”_

_I shook my head slightly, unable to look away, and he grinned like a shark. “My name,” he took a sip from his drink, “is Victor Zsasz.”_

_My blood ran cold, and I suddenly felt sick. Or, at least, my stomach lurched. A truly terrible mistake._

_“Oh don’t worry, kitten.” He put his glass down and then took mine, placing it gently on the table. “I just wanted to tell you that I think you’re very, very pretty.” He continued stroking my neck, and then he took my hand in his free one, turning it over and running his gloves along the inside of my forearm, watching my face the whole time, his own expression neutral._

_Looking into his dark eyes, I started to get that feeling, the rollercoaster feeling of being out of control and on the edge of oblivion. My pulse and breathing quickened. I sat silently, holding his gaze, trying to think through the fog billowing up from his firm but gentle touches. Whoever I took home would be a risk. A kind of sickness had settled over Gotham, a madness, and anyone could turn out to be a crazed madman. At least I knew Victor was a psychopath._

_I was talking myself into it when he reached around me, arms circling me as he pulled off his gloves. The movement pressed my side into his chest and he was firm and warm. Maybe I wasn’t hating this as much as I should. When he returned his touch to my neck, his skin felt burning hot. I looked down at the pale fingers stroking my forearm and watched as he stopped the movement and slowly closed his hand around my wrist. I met his eyes again as his grip tightened, feeling his fingertips pressing into my flesh, squeezing against bone._

_The rollercoaster feeling was at its peak; I was on the edge, looking into the dark depths, and the powerful assassin gripping my wrist had all the control._

_A soft moan escaped my lips, barely audible over the background music, but he heard. The shark-like smile returned, his teeth even and white and perfect._

_“Come with me,” He downed the last of his drink and stood up, pocketing his gloves and keeping a tight grip on my wrist. I stood up obediently, if a little unsteadily, my head swimming in fog, just about remembering to grab my bag and jacket before following him through the bar and outside into the (relatively) fresh air._

_He walked quickly down the damp street and I followed at his heels, trotting along like a lost puppy, splashing through puddles he forced me to walk through until we turned into a dark alley. A thought hit me, and I stopped suddenly. He swung around, still not releasing his hold on me. An amber streetlight from the mouth of the alleyway illuminated his bemused expression._

_“M-my sister,” I stuttered, glancing behind me towards the street._

_He rolled his head and then shrugged, turning back to keep walking further into the alley. I still refused to move, stumbling only slightly when his weight tugged on my arm._

_His back was turned to me, his head and shoulders dropped for a moment, and then he straightened and turned round, quickly covering the few feet between us. I stepped back, and he followed, again and again until I felt my back hit the brick wall of the building behind me. His grip on my wrist was tight as a vice. An overflowing dumpster was blocking the light from the street and the darkness closed in._

_Victor pressed my arm against the wall and clasped my jaw in his free hand, turning my head to one side. I could barely see his outline out the corner of my eye; he was leaning over me, warm breath against my cheek. He rubbed a thumb lightly over my lower lip, his nose tracing delicately along my jawline, and my eyes rolled back and I wanted him, needed him. It’d been so long, and this was so dangerous, he was so very dangerous. That soft, pathetic moan escaped my lips again._

_He jerked me away from the wall, hand leaving my face to fist in the hair at the back of my head, pulling sharply to expose my neck. I whimpered, more in need than in pain, and he held me there for a few seconds._

_“Now, kitten,” he growled, releasing my hair and turning away, resuming his route down the alley._

_There was no hesitation, I just obeyed, following him deeper into the darkness._

 

~~~

 

Footsteps, echoing in the kitchen area, but I don’t dare move, focusing on breathing calmly. The emptiness I feel in his absence transitions to the blissful zone of nothingness; I have no control, what will happen will happen. I feel the rumbling heat flare in my lower abdomen, the familiar feeling of longing and neediness which has never truly let up since that night in the alley. I know there will be pain, but it’s worth it if it makes him happy. Maybe, if I do my job right, there’ll be pleasure too. It’s hard to tell which is which these days.

The footsteps are getting closer, and then become muffled as he reaches the rug. I hear the chink of glass on glass as he puts something down on the coffee table.

Victor’s hand is hot as he runs it up my back, over the nape of my neck and into my hair. It’s still short, but not too short – he likes it just long enough to get a good grip, and he does this now, pulling me up and back into a kneeling position. He keeps his hold and grips my jaw with his other hand, forcing me to look at him.

He’s bent at the waist, but he crouches down now, releasing my face and hair, perfectly balanced on his heels. I stay still, holding his gaze. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to, and why would I ever want to? He’s so beautiful.

“So,” he says, clapping his hands and arranging his face in a mask of mock disappointment. The eyes are steely though, and I’ve learned to watch his eyes. “Is the pretty little kitten going to tell Daddy why she kept on fidgeting when she was told not to?”

_Because you’re in a piss and need to snap out of it_. No, I can’t say that. It’ll mess up the plan and he’ll be moody _forever_. I can’t lie either though. He can always tell. “My leg… it was going numb. I was going to get pins and needles if I didn’t move.” I swallow and drop in a now seldom-used honorific to emphasise the apology and hide the half-truth. “I’m sorry, sir.”

He inclines his head slightly, mouth flickering down – on anyone else this might be a ‘no big deal’ expression but I know better. He reaches towards me but I don’t flinch when once I might have. His hand moves behind me and picks something off the coffee table. It’s a glass, ice is clinking against the side, floating in colourless liquid. He takes a sip and then places it back again.

I haven’t looked away, and he’s completely still for a long time. Or maybe a short time; my sense of time isn’t the best these days, and days can feel like seconds and seconds can feel like years. I’m not even sure how long I’ve been his, definitely months, maybe a year – there’d been no natural light in the basement, just stark white or utter dark… There are windows here though, and sometimes the TV is on, and I know it’s been almost six months since he brought me upstairs with him.

Finally he nods decisively and stands up, walking towards the door to the hallway. I crane my neck to watch him until he’s out of sight, then drop my chin to my chest. _Bad, bad, bad, bad._

I look up and turn my head again when I hear his footsteps returning. He’s humming to himself as he walks, a looping length of soft, black rope in each pale hand. I don’t take my eyes off him, drinking in his every powerful, confident movement. Everything about him is so predatory. I think he’s like a panther.

He stands in front of me, dropping the rope and taking a large swallow from his glass. He’s just looking at me again, and I feel so vulnerable, kneeling there at his feet, naked other than my collar. My neediness jumps a couple notches, and I know he can see it on my face. He can always tell.

“Sometimes, you’re going to have to keep very still.” His quiet voice breaks the silence. “Very, very still. And sometimes it’s going to _hurt_ to keep so very, very still. It’s going to hurt so very much _more_ than a few pins and needles.” He’s crouching in front of me now, face level with mine, and there’s cruelty and death in his eyes. “But you’re going to stay still. You’re going to stay very, very still, because that’s what you’ve been _told_ to do.”

I stay silent and still, holding his gaze. He’s not asked me a question, not given me permission to speak or move. I want to fall to floor, cry at his feet, beg forgiveness. I want him to take me and bruise me and use me just as he wants…

But this is what he wants, everything is always what he wants. And what I really want is to make him happy.

“I’m going to teach you how to be very still now. Are you going to be good?” He straightens up again, lifting a length of rope with him and wrapping it around his fists. 

I tilt my head back so I don’t break eye contact, my nod is almost imperceptible. “Yes.”


	2. Shameless

_“Stay.”_

_I stood where he left me, in the middle of the large living room of the apartment. It was dark, just a slight glow from the large windows, enough to make out the outlines of furniture. He moved away from me, finally releasing my wrist, and I rubbed it with my hand, wincing. I felt bruising, not that it’d show beneath the dark grey inks of my tattoos._

_There was a click and I screwed my eyes shut as bright white light flooded through a doorway. Victor was leaning against the door frame, light behind him, an almost inhuman menacing black shadow. I wondered how terrifying it must be to have that stalking you, on a mission to kill you. He could still do that, I remembered._

_“Freshen up,” he waved an arm, gesturing into the bathroom. “Lose the clothes, keep the hair and the makeup.”_

_I hesitated for a moment and then saw him roll his head back. My neediness was cooling rapidly; the situation was just plain terrifying. Remembering the alley, I decided obedience was probably the safest option right now and walked towards him, past him and into the stark lights._

_“Good girl,” he muttered, pushing away from the door as I closed it. Two words and the burning heat was back again. I leaned back on the door for a moment, breathing hard, before reaching to open the shower door and turn on the water._

_I undressed as I waited for it to warm, then stepped underneath the torrent and closed the frosted glass door behind me. There was a bar of white soap and I lathered up. Everything in the bathroom was crisply clean, fresh, and white. Through the translucent door I barely made out the basins or cupboards; the bright spotlights removed almost all shadows._

_I dried myself carefully, pleased to see the steam from the shower hadn’t disturbed my hair or makeup, as requested, and wrapped the fluffy towel (also white) around me. When I opened the door, the apartment was softly lit. I turned off the bright lights behind me and blinked, eyes slowly becoming accustomed to the warm, creamy glow._

_Victor was sat in a pale coloured leather arm chair facing the bathroom door, a little slouched and looking relaxed, knees splayed, sipping from a tumbler. Like one of the big cats, about to play with his food._

_I fiddled nervously with my hands, chipping off some of polish from a fingernail. The shower had woken me up, and the fear was strong. What was I doing here?_

_“I – I think I might go home now,” I managed to croak. I looked up at him._

_He raised a non-existent eyebrow. “Walk home by yourself, late at night, wearing just a towel?”_

_I looked back down at myself. “I’ll just get dressed.” I mumbled, turning back towards the bathroom, reaching for the light switch._

_“No you won’t, kitten.”_

_I stilled. His voice was much closer, as if he were standing right behind me. “Please,” I whispered._

_“I tell you to sit, you sit down, right next to a stranger.” His voice was low, right in my ear and I felt his warm breath. “I tell you to come, you follow me home like a lost puppy. And now,” he tugged gently at the back of my towel and I gripped the front. “You’re in an apartment with a killer, all clean and fresh because you were told to wash up, and wearing only a towel because you were told not to wear clothes.”_

_I was shaking and breathing hard, I felt his body radiating heat behind me. He ran his hand down my bare arm and I wanted to flinch but his hand was so warm and soft. I turned my head to look at him._

_“Oh, now,” he smiled, ducking his head down to my eye level, “just look at those great, big pupils. I don’t think you really want to leave at all.” He reached around from behind me, wrapping his hand round my throat and pulling me back, his other hand on my stomach pressing me flush against him._

_I gave in then, just for a moment, closing my eyes and leaning into him, desire burning bright. I felt his firm body against my soft one, his hardness pressing against my lower back. He allowed it for a few wonderful seconds and then pulled away, moving back across the room and settling down in his armchair again. I turned to watch him, still gripping the top of the towel._

_“Drop the towel.” The command was light and playful, but went straight to my fingers without consulting my brain. They loosened and the towel dropped to pool around me feet._

_“Come here.”_

_I stepped forward._

_“Nuh uh uh,” he wagged a finger at me, scolding, and then pointed it to the floor. “Crawl.”_

_I stiffened. There was no way I was going to humiliate myself by crawling towards him. He smiled at my obstinacy._

_“Is there a window in the bathroom?” The question caught me off guard, and I started to turn to look behind me into the dark bathroom._

_“No, look at me.” My head snapped back round. “Now, is there a window in the bathroom?”_

_I wracked my brains, trying to remember. Had there been a window? There was the sink and the shower and the toilet, everything white, white, white. But I just couldn’t remember a window. Maybe there was. Did I remember a streetlight glowing outside through a frosted pane? No, that’s my bathroom window in my apartment. All I could remember was white._

_“I- I don’t know,” I murmured._

_“You don’t know, because you didn’t even look. The door was closed, and you didn’t think about escaping.” His voice was soft and soothing, tone entirely reasonable. My vision was going dark around the edges a little, I was looking at him through a narrowing tunnel. “You want to be here. You want to do as you’re told. Now,” the edge of command crept back into his words. “Crawl to me.”_

_I licked my lips nervously, and then slowly lowered myself to my knees. The neediness still burned, but so did the tears in my eyes. I blinked them back as I crawled towards him, halting a few feet away._

_“Closer,” he almost sang the word, taunting me._

_I scooted forward a few inches, but still far away enough to be out of his reach._

_“Closer.” He growled and pointed at the space on the floor right between his feet._

_I shuffled forward again, a foot this time, but still stopping short of where he’d indicated. He sighed heavily, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. Before I could even flinch back, he leaned over, grabbing a fistful of my hair. I shrieked as he dragged me towards him, raising my hands to pull at his wrist._

_“Hush shh shh,” he soothed, letting go of my hair and smoothing it down again. “I’m a busy man, kitten. I can’t keep waiting around while you faff.”_

_I was trembling, but the adrenaline rush wasn’t unpleasant – it was exhilarating. I wanted to get up and run, run and hide somewhere far away, but at the same time I didn’t. I was somehow enjoying this. What’s wrong with me?_

_“Ohh I can see it,” he tilted my chin up so he could look into my eyes. His own face was tilted back a little, his eyes narrowed. “You’re having fun in there, aren’t you?” He began tilting his head side to side with each new question. “Will you submit? Won’t you submit? Will I kill you? Won’t I kill you? Are you scared?” His hand closed around my throat, firmly but not choking me, pulling me close until our foreheads touched. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose, wetting his lips with his tongue. I wanted to kiss him. “Or are you so wet you’re about to beg me to fuck you?”_

_I tensed as he opened his eyes and pulled away a few inches. “Yesss,” he hissed, “there we go. You know you’re enjoying this, and you’re wondering what’s wrong with you. Well,” he released my throat and sat back, slapping his palms against his thighs, his tone light and conversational. “I think we should have a little talk about that. Because I want to do some, quite frankly, disturbing things to that gorgeous little body of yours, and it’ll be much more fun for me if you’re… cooperative.”_

_My confusion must’ve been plastered all over my face because he waved his hands and continued, “Oh I know, I know, I’m a sadist, and we usually have more fun when the victim puts up a bit of a fight. But it’s been a long day, kitten, a long year really. I don’t have the energy or the patience, and if you’re going to be difficult… I might as well just kill you now.”_

_I shake my head vigorously, “No, please-“_

_“Oh you’ll say you’ll behave. Maybe you’ll say whatever you think I want to hear, just hoping that you’ll get out of this alive. But I want you to really behave, and tell me the truth.” His stare was knifing right through me, and I wondered if he could see the mess inside my head or, worse, the bright orb of arousal sitting just below my stomach._

_Victor shifted to the edge of his seat, and again I could feel the heat of his closeness as I knelt naked between his legs. He started running his long fingers through my hair, scraping his nails against my scalp just a little too hard. I shivered and bit my lip._

“You like this, don’t you?” He asked softly. I started to nod, but there was a warning tug in my hair. “Use your words, kitten.” 

_“Yes,” I replied breathily, trying to keep my eyes from closing. His touch felt amazing._

_“Yes…?”_

_“Yes, Victor?” I tried, brow furrowing._

_“A little informal, I think. You barely know me after all.” His nails ran over my scalp, front to back through the long hair of my Mohawk, then back to front over the shaved sides. I tried to focus._

_“Yes, sir?” The formality felt awkward on my tongue._

_“Good girl.”_

_I whimpered quietly through my nose, heat flaring up._

_“Do you know why you like this?”_

_I almost shook my head, and then remembered. “No, sir.”_

_“You like this because it’s how you’re wired up. Just like I’m wired up to enjoy doing this to you.” He placed his hand on my chest and pushed. I fell backwards onto the carpet and scrabbled to get my legs out from their awkward position underneath me._

Before I could get up, he was on top of me, sat straddling my hips. He pulled a knife from his boot and flicked it open. My focus was immediately consumed by the play of the lamp light on the shiny blade. I moved my hands towards his thighs, intending to try to push him away. 

_“Ah, ah, ah,” he chided, pivoting the knife side to side, “no touching without permission. Hands above your head.”_

_I kept my eyes on his face while I moved my arms up and back, letting them fall to the floor, wrists loosely crossed. I was breathing hard, but I couldn’t tell any more whether it was fear or arousal. The pressure of his weight on my hips was delicious._

“Doing as you’re told again. No screaming, no fighting. You want this.” He started tracing the flat of the blade up and down my right side; I could feel it bumping against the raised lines of a tattoo. 

_“I’m sure you’ve been fine, up until now, even in Gotham,” he said, eyes still staring into mine, never ceasing the movement with the knife. “But you’ve only been fine because you never knew you needed this, and you’ve been lucky enough to not find out – until now, of course.”_

_The knife changed hands, and he was running the blade up and down my left side. “Even more fortunately for you, of all the psychopaths and sadists and, to put it bluntly, nut jobs in our rotting city, I found you first.” He smiled, almost kindly. “At least with me, you’ve got a chance. At least with me, if you’re very, very good, I might keep you.”_

_I gasped as he dug the point of the knife into the side of my left breast, and my arms twitched as I fought the urge to reach down and knock his hand away._

_He saw the movement and cooed. “Just as good as that.” He put a touch more pressure on the knife and started dragging upwards. I moaned, but didn’t move my arms. If I just relaxed into it, just let go of control then the pain was… exquisite. I shifted my hips a little under his weight, pressing my thighs together._

_Victor smiled mockingly. “You won’t last five minutes out there, without me.”_

_He lifted the blade from my skin and then applied it again, a little further over, dragging it downwards this time. I balled my fists and rolled my head back, arching up into him. The movement with the knife stopped and he placed a hand on my chest, pushing my back down flat against the floor._

_“I know it feels good but stay still, kitten, I don’t want to spoil this.” He whispered. He didn’t ease up the pressure on my chest as he continued dragging the knife back down, and I struggled a little to breathe. I bit my lip, fingernails digging into my palms as I tried not to wriggle._

_Then the pain from the knife was gone and I felt… empty, disappointed._

_He noticed and leaned over, dropping the knife to the floor and placing his hands either side of my upstretched arms. “Don’t worry,” he said, the tip of his nose brushing against mine. “It’s still early and we have plenty of time for more.”_

_His change in position lifted his weight off my hips a little, and I couldn’t stop myself pushing up a little to grind against him._

_He closed his eyes and growled. “Needy, needy, needy.” He chided. I smiled playfully, lifting my head, desperate to feel his lips on mine. “Ah, ah, ah, what did I say about touching?” He sat up and reclaimed his knife, closing it and then tossing it onto the seat of the armchair, the disapproving look he gave me a little spoiled by the slight smile playing on his lips._

_I let my head drop back onto the carpet. I felt like I was burning up; there was nothing I could identify as fear any more, only lust._

_“Please,” I begged, my voice barely above a whisper._

_“Please what?” He teased, rolling off me, lying on his side to my left, his head propped on his elbow._

_“Please, sir,” my voice was a little stronger, slightly reedy with need._

_“Please, sir, what?” He tilted his head down, admiring the cuts on my breast._

_I tried to find the words, but they won’t come. I can’t beg this monster to… to… No, I just can’t. He knows what I want, what I need. Do I really have to say it?_

_“Hmmmm?” He rumbled, and then leant closer to blow cool air over my wounds. I inhaled sharply and arched into the pain, squeezing my thighs tight together. Then there was a warm, stinging sensation. When I looked down to see what he was doing, I nearly lost my mind; he was running his soft, pink tongue up the side of my breast, catching the droplets of blood._

_He caught me staring and nipped at my flesh._

_“Fuck,” I breathed, clawing the carpet and trying to hold myself together._

_Victor captured my nipple between finger and thumb and started to squeeze gently. “So far we have, ‘please’, ‘sir’, and ‘fuck’. Now,” the pressure was increasing and my chest was rising and falling rapidly. “I think I maybe know what you’re hinting at, but you’re going to spell it out for me. Enthusiastic consent, and all that.” His lips quirked into a playful smile._

_I was breathing hard through gritted teeth, biting down on the words that I wanted to say but couldn’t. I knew if I did, that would be the end. I was sat in the seat on the rollercoaster, the restraints were coming down, and this was my last chance to get off before I was trapped and flung into oblivion. I knew once I’d had one ride, it’d never be enough. I’d never escape, I’d never even want to._

_“Just let go,” he released my nipple. “It’d be so easy. No more worrying, no more decisions.” He was running the backs of his fingers up and down my side, his rings scraping gently against my skin and raising gooseflesh. “I can take all of that away, if you just let go and tell me what you want.” His eyes were fixed on my face and they were dark, so very dark and deep. “Come on, kitten. Tell me.”_

_I took a shuddering breath. “Please fuck me, sir,” I begged. “Please.”_

_He was on me in an instant, his knee forcing my legs apart as he deftly unfastened his belt and zipper, letting his trousers fall to his mid-thigh. Once free, he palmed himself it for a few strokes, then there was the sensation of hardness rubbing against my soft slickness. I moaned wordlessly, lifting my hips, desperately needing him inside me. He pushed forward and I held my breath, waiting for the moment of bliss._

_He pulled back and I cried out in frustration at the loss of contact, eliciting a chuckle from the psychopath between my legs._

_“Bedroom. Now.” He pointed towards a doorway._

_I rolled over onto my knees, pushing myself up to stand but his hand connected sharply with my ass cheek. My eyes watered at the sting, and I turned my head to look up at him. He was standing over me loosening his tie, trousers and belt refastened at his hips, shirt untucked._

_“Crawl.” He commanded, pulling the tie over his head. He walked a few paces ahead of me and stopped, dangling the silky noose in front of me. I crawled forwards on my hands and knees, and then reached up to take the tie from him. He batted my hands away._

_“Sit.” I knelt back and he slipped the loop over my head, pulling it tight around my neck._

_“Heel.” He started towards the bedroom again, moving quickly, and I half-crawled, was half-dragged by the neck into the bedroom._

_He dropped the tie. “Stay.” Still on all fours, I watched him bend down to untie his boots and slip them off. Then he removed his cuff links and rings, placing them carefully in the top drawer of a unit. Finally he unbuttoned his shirt, agonisingly slowly, and shrugged it off, dropping it into a wicker basket. When he turned, the low lighting in the room accented the hatch-mark scars up his arms and across his upper chest. He was hairless and pale, muscular and lean. I wanted to get up and touch him, kiss every single one of those scars, but I resisted._

_“Like what you see, kitten?” He stood, letting me run my eyes hungrily over broad shoulders, defined pectorals and abs, trousers hanging from his hips just below the cutting V of his obliques. So beautiful, so dangerous._

_I nodded. “Yes, sir.”_

_He stalked towards me, grabbing the tail of the tie and pulling me up roughly to stand in front of him. Just the smell of his cologne was intoxicating. He towered over me, my eyes level with his chest, and I looked up at him as he looked down at me._

“On the bed, on your back,” he whispered, and I immediately obeyed, settling myself in the middle of the deep purple blankets. 

_Victor grabbed my ankle and pulled me sharply down the bed until my ass was nearly hanging off._

_“Arms above your head.”_

_I obeyed, trying to keep my breathing steady as he tapped two fingers on my thigh. I spread my knees for him and he stood between them, looking down hungrily._

_“You don’t move unless I say so. You don’t come unless I give you permission.” He slid two long fingers roughly into me and curled them. “Understood?”_

_“Yes, sir,” I hissed._

_“Good girl.” He rubbed his thumb over my most sensitive place and I groaned, hands balling in the blanket above my head._

_The pace was teasing; slow curling of his fingers inside me, slow circling of his thumb over the little bundle of nerves. I could feel the pleasure building, but then it plateaued and my breathing slowed a little. After a few breaths, his pace quickened minutely, enough to build the pleasure a bit more, but then it stopped. He kept me there for a little longer this time before increasing speed again._

_After the third or fourth time, I was aching for release. Just a little faster, I thought, and I can get there. I looked up at him and he was watching me, concentrating intensely on my face. He ran his free hand up the back of my leg and gripped, pressing his fingers into the flesh of my inner thigh. The pleasure built another notch and I moaned, closing my eyes._

_He alternated increasing the speed of his fingers with the pressure on my thigh, and I was right on the edge. Whenever I opened my eyes to look at him, my vision was foggy. All I could see were his dark eyes, never leaving my face. His fingers in my thigh were bruising me, his short nails biting into my skin, but when he tightened his grip again it drove me closer._

_I wanted to scream in frustration but all I could do was moan, tugging at the blankets._

_“Faster please, sir,” I begged breathlessly._

_“No.” His fingers and thumb maintained their maddening pace._

_“Please,” I whined, bucking my hips against his hand._

_He withdrew suddenly and I cried out plaintively, closing my eyes. I felt weight on the bed next to me and reopened them. He was sat by my head looking disappointed, arms folded across his chest._

_“You moved.” He said, accusingly._

_“I’m sorry, I won’t move again, I promise.” I lay still, knees splayed, fingers twitching in my need to just reach down and finish what he’d started. I could feel my climax quickly disappearing into the distance._

_“Well, if you promise…” He sounded like a sulking child. He huffed and pushed himself up, walking back round to the end of the bed._

_“But,” he said, sliding his fingers back inside me and grinning down evilly, “we are going to have to start again, from the beginning.”_

_I cried then. Really cried, huge tears welling up and rolling down my cheeks even as he started the slow pace again. I twitched and cried through the gasps and moans my body wouldn’t let me stifle, as he drove me deliriously closer and closer to the edge but never pushed me over. I didn’t know how long he kept me there, but it was past the point of the tears drying up, and when he finally pulled away I was dry sobbing, head lolling to one side, staring into nothingness._

_I felt his hand on my jaw and offered no resistance as he rolled my head straight. “Well don’t you look pretty with your makeup running down your face,” He was grinning at me like a Cheshire cat. The same grin he’d worn since I started crying._

_“You’re sick,” I spat, but I didn’t have the energy to move. I needed to come so badly I could barely think straight._

_“Sick,” he repeated quietly, and I heard the clink of a belt buckle and the buzz of a zipper. “So you don’t want this?” The tip of him was teasingly rubbing near where his thumb had just been and I gasped and twitched._

_“Tell me to stop, kitten,” he growled, moving his hands to my hips and slowly pressing into me. I was gripping the blankets above my head again, feeling his thickness stretch me._

_“Tell me you don’t want me filling every inch of you,” he hit my limit and I moaned as he started to withdraw, maddeningly slowly._

_“Tell me,” he leaned over, “that you didn’t imagine this from the moment you saw me. That you didn’t need this from the moment I wrapped my hand around that oh-so delicate wrist of yours and squeezed.” As he said this, he dug his fingers into my hips for emphasis and I whimpered._

_He pushed me further up the bed to kneel between my legs, one hand angling my hips upwards a little to push in deeper, the other hand on the bed by my head, taking his weight. His face was directly over mine and he was watching me with a dark expression._

He rocked his hips gently and I dissolved underneath him. 

_“You’ve always needed this, little girl. You just didn’t know it.” His voice was the only thing penetrating through the fog, all I could do was hear his words and feel his slow, insistent thrusts. “So go on, tell me to stop.”_

_I felt like my world would end in that moment if he stopped, if he didn’t fuck me harder, faster, give me the release I couldn’t live without. I held his gaze steadily, losing myself in his dark eyes._

_“Please, sir,” I whispered. “Fuck me.”_

_His lips met mine in a brutal clash as he thrust hard into me, his hand leaving my hips and reaching up to pull at my lower lip with his thumb. I complied and he forced his tongue into my mouth, claiming me with a dominant kiss._

_I gasped when he broke away, leaning forward into me to grab a pillow and then straightening up, pulling my ass up and stuffing the cushioning beneath me. Then his fingers found their bruises on my hips again and he pounded into me, hard and fast now._

I could feel every inch of thickness and my climax was building. I looked up at him and his eyes were closed, expression concentrated, focused solely on his own pleasure and reaching his peak. He was using me as a toy and the realisation dragged me, lurching, to the edge. 

_He opened his eyes at the sudden tightness but maintained the punishing rhythm. “Do you want to come, kitten?”_

_I nodded, concentrating on the balled up knot of feeling inside me._

_“Be a good girl and beg nicely.”_

_I was desperate for his permission – I couldn’t hold it, couldn’t stop it, had never been able to. The words tumbled out of my mouth; pleading, fawning, begging. I was so close to disobedience and I couldn’t help it._

_“Go on then, kitten. Break for me.”_

_Not spoken a moment too soon, as the wave crashed over me and I cried out, tensing and clenching for a long half minute before floating in the afterglow. I was dimly aware of a last few thrusts, his hips bruising my thighs, and then his growl and the warm, wet sensation inside me._

_Victor withdrew abruptly and stood, releasing my hips to grab the tie still around my neck. Violently, he dragged me off the bed. My legs were numb and wouldn’t respond, so I tumbled to the floor at the foot of the bed, landing in an ungraceful heap at his feet._

_I looked up at him, hurt. I don’t know why I’d been expecting the usual post-coital intimacy – none of this encounter had been anything like usual._

_“No pets on the furniture.” He smirked and then left. I heard the click of the bathroom light and the door closing._

_I felt dirty and cold but somehow also numb. I could hear my heart thudding in my ears, the sweat drying against my skin making me shiver. I vaguely thought I should clean up, but I was exhausted, so instead I shuffled into a slightly more comfortable position and curled up._

_Pain beneath my arm made me wince and I placed my right hand over my breast, pulling it in to view the cuts he’d made. The bleeding had mostly stopped, and I could make out a crisp V shape._

_The numbness lifted and I could feel the mark of possession searing into me, the heat igniting. I was fucked up, bruised, sore, and all I could think about was how much I wanted more._


	3. Kitten

The TV is back on, but I can’t see even a sliver of the screen any more. He’s still here – I’ve heard him walk to the kitchen once (bare feet slapping against the tiles; boots off is a good sign that he’s relaxing) and return with ice chinking in a fresh glass of whatever it is he’s drinking. Probably vodka. He forced some down my throat one time, back in the basement. I’ve always hated neat spirits.

My arms have been numb for a while now, my legs even longer. I wonder how much permanent damage is being done. Probably none; he’s very good at damage that will heal. It’s only my psyche that’s permanently twisted.

Maybe. Or was I like this before?

_“You’ve always needed this, little girl. You just didn’t know it.”_

I’m on the rug, facing away from the TV. I’m too far towards the window to see him but I know he’s there, relaxed on the sofa. The stiff posture collar that has replaced my usual soft leather one stops me from turning my head. He’s here though, that’s important. It means it’s quiet in my head. _Shhhh peace._

The soft black ropes are expertly securing my legs and arms. I’m not sure what position I’m in; I can’t remember how he tied me, and now the numbness is distorting my awareness of my limbs. All I can remember are his warm hands, firm but gentle touches, murmured “this way, kitten” and “move your hand just here, good girl”.

This is easy, in the warm light, on the soft rug, hearing his small movements nearby. He does this regularly now; little adjustments and tweaking to the conditioning carefully but brutally instilled when I first arrived.

I comply quietly, learning each lesson carefully. I never want to go back downstairs.

 

~~~

 

_There was no sense of time. No natural light by which to count the days and nights. The dark was cloying, suffocating; the deep underground kind of dark. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, and I had to feel around for the tray of bland mush pushed through the door on occasion. I’d find my mouth with my fingers, make a mess in my haste. I was always hungry, even after licking the plastic clean. Once I knocked over the little cup of water. That was a bad time._

_The light was somehow worse. Harsh industrial fluorescent bulbs gave off a terrible blue-white glare. My little cell was stark grey concrete, impossible to truly get comfortable in. I was bruised just from lying on the floor. The toilet in the corner was mortifying at first, but I quickly lost my inhibitions. The little window in the thick steel door was always covered anyway._

_I wasn’t sure if the pattern of dark and light followed the circadian rhythm but I suspected not. Even sleeping during the dark and keeping myself awake in the light, I always felt jetlagged. The food seemed to arrive randomly, sometimes in the light, sometimes in the dark. Sometimes it felt like barely an hour had passed before bright lights awoke me from my sleep, not that it was ever proper sleep, not in the cell. Sometimes it seemed the lights shut off for days and days and days._

_It was psychological torture 101. I’d watched the films, had gotten lost in the Wikipedia holes with 46 tabs open in Chrome, realising suddenly it was 4am. He did it by the book. I knew what he was trying to do, so I knew it would not work on me. He was testing me, testing my strength, determining whether or not I was worthy. I would be._

_~_

_I looked down at the bare arms resting on grey trousered knees, watching the fingers plucking aimlessly at the material. I wondered why they were doing that, it seemed so pointless. They had pretty tattoos; feminine roses curling up one arm, contrasting with the grey armour covering the other. I willed them to turn their hands over, and they did. I traced my eyes over the colours on the inner forearms. Pretty, pretty, pretty. Exactly like my own tattoos. I probably should have been mad at the artist, repeating my personalised designs on someone else._

_‘His tricks aren’t going to work on me,’ I told her. I’d found out she was a girl when she first used the toilet – there was no privacy in here, and I’d apologised for looking. I was analysing her slender fingers, her nails were long with tiny remnants of polish. Black and red, black and red. ‘I used to paint my fingernails black and red,’ I told her. I was always telling her things. I tried asking her things for a while, but she never replied. She wouldn’t even tell me her name._

_She stroked her nails lightly up and down her arm and I watched the goosebumps rise on her flesh. I sighed, wishing I could feel her caress. I just seemed to have… misplaced my body right now. I giggled. I wondered where it was, whether it was having fun without me. Maybe it was with Victor, his stroking fingers on its neck, warm hand clasped around its wrist. My giggles dissolved to sobs. I wished I could feel something, anything._

_~_

_There were voices outside the door. I paid them no mind; there were sometimes voices, always muffled too much to make out what they were saying. It didn’t seem important. The lights were on, and I was admiring the girl’s tattoos again. She’d stood up and was wandering around my little room, twisting this way and that so I could watch how the colours differed when shadowed by her body or under the bright lights. Pretty, pretty, pretty._

_The door opened and the girl backed into a corner. I saw through her eyes the tall man standing there, bald and dressed in a crisp black suit. Next to him was a woman, only a little shorter than him, her skin so dark it was almost black, wearing a white nurse’s uniform and impractical heels. ‘Shhh,’ I whispered to the girl, ‘it’s okay, you get to meet Victor. I’ve told you about him. We like him.’_

_The woman turned to Victor, raising an eyebrow. As she moved, the light glistened and I realised her uniform was latex. I giggled in the girl’s ear, ‘she’s a very naughty nurse.’_

_“Six days ago, right on schedule,” the nurse said. “We’ve been monitoring and we’re pretty certain she’s depersonalised.” Poor thing, I thought, not being as strong as me._

_He took a few steps into the room and the girl cringed. He cocked his head to one side and spoke softly._

_“What’s your name, girl?”_

_The girl was silent. ‘Go on,’ I urged her. ‘Tell him. He’s Victor, you can tell him.’ The girl didn’t speak. Victor looked back at the nurse._

_“Yeah, she’s ready. We leave her talking to herself much longer, we won’t be able to bring her back. That’d be no fun at all.” He looked back at the girl. “Not long now, kitten.” He smiled and walked out past the nurse._

_‘NO!’ I shouted at the girl, and Victor’s head appeared back round the doorway, looking amused. The woman in latex had flinched back. ‘You’re NOT kitten, I’M kitten! You’re not, you’re not, you’re NOT! I’m his, I’m kitten, I’M HIS KITTEN.’ The girl was sobbing now, and I felt bad. ‘Shhh, I’m sorry, shhh, it’s okay,’ I soothed._

_“Right now,” Victor murmured, and disappeared, footsteps echoing down the hallway._

_~_

_It took some wheedling, but eventually the nurse coaxed the girl out of her room. It might have gone quicker but the woman didn’t seem to want to touch her. I went along for the ride; the room would be boring without the girl, and I hadn’t been out in a while. It was interesting._

_She followed the nurse down the stark white hall in the same direction Victor had disappeared. There were doors on either side, but the girl didn’t seem to want to turn her head so I could look. She just watched the back of the woman in front, round a corner and into a new room._

_The nurse closed the door behind her as the girl looked around. Like the rest of the basement, this room was brightly lit and, like the corridor outside, everything was white and clinical. A large white cabinet against one wall, a strange tank-like thing in another corner, a bare desk. And Victor, casually leaning against something that resembled a dentist’s chair in the centre of the room. His expression was cool and calm, I thought he looked professional. The girl was nervously playing with the edge of her grey t-shirt, keeping her wary eyes on him._

_“Time to come home, little girl,” he said, pushing away from the chair and walking towards her. She stepped backwards, but he was prepared and moved quickly. As he gripped her wrist with his hand, I felt a tingle in my own wrist. I clocked this as weird, because I didn’t have wrists, but I definitely thought I could feel the ghost of warmth on my arm._

_The girl didn’t struggle as Victor strapped her securely to the chair. He kept his foot on a pedal near the floor and the chair flattened to a bed while he shrugged off his suit jacket, throwing it onto the desk, and then unbuttoned the cuffs of his black shirt, rolling the sleeves to his elbows._

_The lights above her were very bright, and she squinted. His face looking down at her was a brief blurred shadow, and then the lights were back. She couldn’t see him, and she started to shake a little._

_“Shh,” came his voice from further down the bed. I felt the ghost of warmth again, on my abdomen this time. But I had no body, no tummy, none of this was real…_

_“Come here, kitten,” he said, softly._

_The first thing I felt in I don’t know how long was the searing pain as he carved into the skin of my side with a long, elegant blade._

_I howled, revelling in the sensation, pulling at the restraints. The restraints. I could feel them, tight around my wrists and ankles, could feel my weight on the chair, cool air on my stomach where he’d pushed up my t-shirt. The heat from his hand burned where he stretched the skin to allow him to cut neatly, precisely, just deep enough._

_I panted, enjoying the rawness of my vocal chords, the warm, wet feeling of blood dripping down my side. He still had one palm resting gently on me, his knife hand tracing patterns with his fingers across my stomach in my own blood, the blade folded into his palm. It felt divine and I moaned, wanting more, wanting him never to stop._

_I whined when he stepped away, pulling at my wrist cuffs. The chair slowly folded back into a comfortable sitting position and I turned my head so I could see him. He was so very beautiful, even more so than that first night. Deft fingers released my left wrist from the cuff and I reached out to him instinctively._

_“No,” he said, sharply. “Not without permission.”_

_I nodded my head and lowered my arm back to the rest, stretching my fingers. I could feel them, feel the tips as I pressed them together. Even just that felt good._

_There was a crisp click, and I looked down to his hand. The knife was in it again, blade still wet with my blood. He rolled my rand over, exposing my inner forearm, his expression again focused and studious. His firm, warm touch held me in place as I flinched and twitched at the pressure of the knife against my skin._

_~_

_I wasn’t sure when I stopped flinching. At some point it clicked; no matter what I did, he’d hurt me if he wanted to. Not just with a knife – sometimes there were fists, or teeth, or a sharp kick that’d leave me coughing blood. Sometimes it was hands around my neck until I blacked out. The worst times were when he got inventive with evil looking whips, or the thing like a cattle prod._

_Even those bad times were never as bad as when he left. After each session, he’d walk me back to my cell and leave me. I begged the first few times, but it had no effect, so I followed him quietly, close as I could without touching, savouring the sight of him, the smell of his sweat and cologne, and the vague heat from his body. And I stood just inside the door as he closed it, so I could see him for as long as possible. And then he left me._

_I still had no sense of time, and how long he left me for I didn’t know. The emptiness was fairly instant, then the colour would trickle from the tattoos and fresh scars, and the numbness followed. Each time, just as I felt close to being able to break away from my body again, he returned. Each time, I practically skipped down the hallway, following him to the little torture chamber, desperate to feel something again._

_I learned quickly that, while the pain was inevitable, pleasure was given as a reward for exceptional behaviour. It was unpredictable – sometimes I’d go through a whole session never flinching when he raised a hand, making no noise as he held a knife to my throat, and there would be no reward at the end of it. But sometimes… sometimes there was a gentle pressing of his lips to my forehead, a whispered “good girl”, a boyish smile. Every session I’d try my hardest just to feel the warmth in my chest at these small gestures of affection._

_~_

_The day I left the basement, he opened the door and found me waiting eagerly, as usual. I knew the sound his footsteps made, the unique pattern that was light and predatory. I waited for him to turn and lead us to the room for playtime, but he just stood there, looking beautiful as always. I was curious, but knew better than to ask questions. This was interesting._

_Victor reached forward and pulled the bottom of my t-shirt up. Obediently I raised my arms over my head so he could pull it off me. This was not unusual, he often undressed me and I didn’t have any qualms about being naked any more. But we were always in the playroom._

_He gestured for me to take off the loose fitting trousers and I did, stepping out of them neatly. His eyes ran over my body, a patchwork of fresh wounds, scars and bruises now accompanying my tattoos. I felt like his work of art, and I stood proudly. I could never hide anything from him. I never wanted to._

_He held a hand towards me, and I placed my wrist into it, closing my eyes a moment and humming briefly at the sensation. Then we were walking down the hallway, but not towards the playroom. We went the opposite way, me trotting behind to keep up with his quick pace without him having to yank on my arm._

_There were stairs, a thick wooden door and then… the light was dim and my eyes were trying to adjust. When they did, I wasn’t in the apartment. Instead, a house, strangely normal looking. It was hard to believe that such an ordinary place could exist, not when my whole world had been that basement for so long._

_He was still walking quickly and I couldn’t take my eyes off him, so I mostly got impressions from my peripheral vision and the feelings from my bare feet. A hallway, general feeling of space and height above me, maybe flagstones under foot. Then brighter light, black and chrome, smaller tiles – a kitchen maybe. Then back to the soft lighting, cream and dark wood all around, wood underfoot too until it gave way to something deliciously soft and fluffy._

_Victor sat and pulled me down across his lap. It was an armchair, leather and well stuffed, and he shuffled me until my back was resting against one arm of the chair, my legs draped over the other. He hadn’t spoken yet, and his face was impassive, so I waited. Eventually he reached behind me, and his hand came back with a bowl of… oh my gods was that chicken? And fresh vegetables?!_

_My eyes darted from the bowl to his face, begging for permission. The corner of his mouth twitched in a slight smile and then he picked up a piece of meat with his fingers. He held it up and I opened my mouth obediently._

_It must have been plain and bland, but after however long it had been eating flavourless mush, it was Michelin star gourmet cuisine. Even just chewing something felt incredible. I swallowed, and he raised a chunk of steamed carrot to my lips. I parted them eagerly._

_It wasn’t sexy. He fed me like you might feed scraps to a dog under the table. At one point I became too eager and he gave me a sharp look, waiting for me to settle before feeding me the next bite. Halfway through my pace began to slow to become more moderate, more normal. I was still hungry, but he stopped and placed the bowl back behind my head._

_“Later,” he spoke softly, seeing my disappointment. He held out his hand to my face, and I licked and sucked each finger clean then pressed gentle kisses to each fingertip. I could feel him harden beneath me, triggering a flood of arousal. Please, please fuck me, I thought. He hadn’t since that first night in the apartment, not for all the time I was in the basement._

_Instead he withdrew his hand and repositioned me somewhat, placing an arm across my shoulders and pulling me into him so my side rested against his chest. I found the nook under his arm and snuggled into it, nuzzling his neck with my nose and breathing in the smell of him. He smelled of blood and rain and subtle cologne. I placed a kiss on his neck and then tucked my head down again. One of my arms was folded and pressed between us, my other hand found his chest and rested lightly over his heart. He was so warm._

_Victor ran a hand from my ankle to my knee and back down again, stroking and soothing. The arm around my shoulder moved just a little, and then he had my ear between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing the cartilage gently, occasionally moving to tug at the lob. I moaned softly; it wasn’t him inside me, but it felt so good. I was comfortable, warm, aroused, and, I realised with horror, sleepy._

_I fought it off, wanting to stay awake and enjoy every second of him. The last thing I remembered was his touch on my leg, the reassuring gentle pressure on my ear, and my eyelids getting heavier and heavier._


	4. Lessons learned

I’m acutely aware of two things.

The first is the obvious: I really can’t feel my arms or my legs. Not at all. I scrunch up my face, just to check that my brain is in fact still sending messages to muscles when I tell it to, and my eyes squint close and the skin across my cheeks tautens. Yep, that’s working fine. I try to twitch my fingers, my toes, tense the muscles in my calves, flex my biceps. No response. _Shit this is gonna hurt._

The second thing I’m really aware of is how cold and heavy I feel. All my weight is dragging down, pushing my ribs and hip bones into the floor beneath me. The rug had been comfy until some time ago, but now I think I might be getting bruises. The coldness of the floor under the rug is starting to penetrate through, sapping at my heat. Occasionally an uncontrolled shiver runs through me.

I wonder if he’ll let me die like this, whether he’ll leave me so long that my extremities will become necrotic from lack of blood supply. Or would I die of dehydration first? I’m being silly. I’m his toy. When he gets bored of me, he’ll dispose of me with glorious splashes of crimson and his usual panache with a knife. I smile, thinking about how his eyes will sparkle as he enjoys my last minutes, closing my eyes to picture the particular grin that appears on his face when he’s indulged in a really hedonistic kill.

“You’re looking far too happy for someone being punished.”

I open my eyes again, lazily, not bothering to wipe the contented smile from my face. Victor is crouched in front of me, fingers steepled and forearms resting on his knees. I still can’t turn my head, so his face is a blur in my peripheral vision, but I can tell from his tone of voice that he’s much more relaxed than earlier in the evening.

He reaches down and taps the side of my head lightly with two fingers. “What’s going on in there?”

I clear my throat as best I can. “I was imagining how you’ll look when you kill me.” My smile widens a little, and I giggle.

There’s a short pause, and then he places a hand on my shoulder and pulls, rolling me onto my front. “You’re really weird, you know that?” There’s jostling above me, and I think he’s undoing the restraints.

I open my mouth to reply, and get a mouthful of fluffy rug instead. I mumble incoherently.

There are fingers at my neck and then the collar comes loose. He grips a fistful of my hair and pulls my head up. “Sorry darling, I didn’t quite catch that,” he says casually. There’s a click, and then the familiar cold, sharp feeling on my neck, right by my jugular. _Gods, he’s so sexy when he’s being playful._

I run my tongue through my lips, trying to dislodge the fluff stuck to it. “I said: you made me weird.”

The point of the knife pricks my skin for a moment, and then he’s running the flat of the blade back towards my nape and down my back. He must be impatient with the knots he made earlier. He drops my hair and I turn my head to the side to avoid breaking my nose, my temple hitting the floor instead with a thump. When the stars clear from my vision, I can see one of his feet; bare and pale, as perfect as the rest of him. He’s standing over me.

“We both know you were weird to start with. I mean,” he grunts, tugging the knife through a particularly stubborn section of rope and my body jerks up from the floor with the movement, “I’m the best, but I couldn’t have created such a little masterpiece without quality materials.”

“Victor, don’t, you’ll make me blush.” I flutter my eyelashes coquettishly.

“Shut up.”

I fall silent as he slices through the remaining ropes and then rolls me onto my back. He has to position my arms and legs so I’m lying flat – I still can’t feel a thing – and he rubs each limb briskly as he does so. Finally satisfied, he sits down heavily beside me on the rug, his hip level with my head, long legs stretched out. I look up at him quizzically.

“I said shut up.” 

I try to indicate with mere facial expressions that I haven’t _actually_ said anything. 

He sighs heavily and rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “I want to sit right here so I get the best view of the entertainment.”

I raise an eyebrow and start to smile seductively, and then my eyes widen in horror as it dawns on me: all my limbs are about to come back to life. Victor is chuckling and I give him a pleading look. He holds up his hands, palm out. “Nothing I can do at this point. Except,” he leans over me and plucks his drink from the table, “sit back and enjoy the show. Cheers!” he toasts and takes a sip.

I huff and scowl, mentally bracing myself for the pain. At least he’s in a better mood, I think, my gaze roaming the ceiling. I’ve taken his mind off things, and whatever cloud had been hanging over him has shifted. The feeling gives me a warm fuzzy, and I turn my head to look at him. He’s in relaxed panther mode, eyes bright but soft, a smile playing across his lips as his eyes his prey.

I’m almost relaxed when the tingle starts in my shoulders and the tops of my thighs. Experimentally, I send some commands to a few muscles but get no response.

Victor leans down on one elbow, his face very close to mine. “Starting to get some feeling back?”

I pull my lips between my teeth and roll my eyes at him. If there are any vestiges of his bad mood left, then my sarcasm is risking a slap. But if I fall for his trick and reply, then there will _definitely_ be a slap – even if he’s in the greatest mood.

He thins his lips but ignores my wordless snark. “You can speak. You’re going to want to make all sorts of delicious noises soon anyway, and I’m going to want to hear them.”

“There’s some tingling.” I admit. “It’s spreading.” I can feel it down to my knees and elbows now. It’s not all that unpleasant, but I’m still unable to move anything.

He leans forward and kisses my nose lightly. “Fireworks are about to start then.”

“What if I get a blood clot or something and I die?” I’m focused on his mouth, how much I want to kiss him right now. The tingling is turning to prickles and it’s just the right amount of pain to _really_ rev my engine.

“Either way, you won’t disobey me again, will you?” He pulls away a little, raising his non-existent eyebrows.

_Totally would. I’d do it a thousand times over just to make him happy._ I’m smirking at the secret thought when the prickles turn to long stabbing needles. I groan, breath hissing through clenched teeth as I pant, the needling pain burning down my arms and legs, into my hands and feet.

My eyes are screwed tight shut, but I know he’s watching me, enjoying every second of my agony. Not thinking, I try to move my hands, and the muscles go into spasms. I cry out wordlessly at the shooting pains. My bones have turned to shards of glass, slicing up through the flesh and sinews, bursting through my skin. I open my eyes for a fraction of a second, glancing down, expecting to see myself lying in a pool of blood, but there’s nothing. The pain is entirely invisible.

A particularly sharp stab in my thigh makes me inhale sharply, and a coughing fit ensues. I’m sure I’m about to die - there’s obviously a clot on my lung, and each cough involuntarily tenses all my muscles in my arms, rending them from their tendons.

The coughing abates and I’m surprised I’m still breathing. If I lie very, very still, then the needling is manageable. If I can just lie here a little longer then everything will return to normal without any more pain.

Victor, of course, has other ideas.

In one fluid movement, he’s on his feet, extending a hand down to me. “Up you get, kitten.” 

I shake my head. There’s no way I’m moving.

“Don’t make me ask again.” There’s a warning in his voice, and I’m not sure this can get any more painful – but I’m at the mercy of the one person in Gotham who could surely find a way to make this worse. I grit my teeth and raise a trembling arm, reaching for him. Pain blossoms like fireworks up and down my arm, each finger is a flaring beacon of anguish.

His hand is round my forearm, the other hooked behind my elbow, and he drags my upright with barely any discernible effort – and despite my protesting screeches.

My legs won’t take my weight, everything feels like shrapnel-laced jelly. As soon as he begins to relax his grip on my upper arm, I crumple downwards in a heap. He still holds my forearm and it twists, pulling at my shoulder and elbow. I barely notice the additional pain – my weight bearing down onto my tortured calves and thighs has my full attention.

I’m mewling, on my knees at his feet, one arm uselessly dangling at my shoulder, the other awkwardly twisted back and up. I suck short, quick breaths through gritted teeth. _Maybe if I hyperventilate, I’ll pass out. Gods the pain, the pain…_

The pain… it isn’t getting any worse.

It’s bad, _really_ bad, but it’s not getting worse and I _have_ been through worse pain, _he_ has put me through worse pain than this. And I survived that. I stop focusing on the pain and focus on my breathing instead, consciously slowing and calming, relaxing my jaw to take slow, noisy gasps.

Victor jerks my arm upwards a little, and the sound I utter is almost musical. _Through the nose, through the nose, through the nose._ I inhale deeply through my nose and exhale through my mouth, once, twice, again and again. Counting each one _in-2-3-4, out-2-3-4_. 

I don’t think I consciously decide to stand up, but I find myself rising in a crescendo of agony as my muscles remember how to obey. Blood rushes from my head and I sway a little – _transient postural hypotension, thanks brain for the distracting factoid_ – but maintain my balance, concentrating on a sconce on the far wall while I acclimatise enough to turn and face him.

He’s studying me intently, hairless brow furrowed, thoughtfully chewing his bottom lip, his fingers loosening and slipping down to their familiar place around my wrist. I raise my arm, bending at the elbow to lift his hand closer to my face. His skin is here is smooth, so unlike the palms calloused from wielding guns and knives, white and flawless where further up his arms he’s marked with pale pink scars.

I look up at him, holding his gaze as I delicately press my lips to first one ring, then the other, then to each of his knuckles. He’s perfectly still, just watching me, waiting to see what I do next. I wonder if he’s ever surprised at my reactions, whether he’d expected me to be screaming at him now, beating my fists against his chest for what he just did to me, what he’s done to me, how he’s broken me. But he’s right; I was twisted up and broken before, trapped in a world of _should_ and _shouldn’t_ , and everything he does breaks down another wall I’ve built to keep myself in. He sets me free, allows me to be my ‘authentic self’ as so many nauseating gurus would put it.

_I’m so grateful to be free._

I lift my arm to his chest, stepping forwards and pushing him backwards, still not breaking eye contact. He resists for a moment but then steps back, and I persist until his legs meet the edge of an armchair, that same armchair where he fed me and held me, stroked and soothed me until I slept. I press him to sit down, but he stands firm, and this time it’s him raising my fisted hand to his face. With his other hand, he tugs at my fingers and then places a gentle kiss to the heel, sending sparks shooting up my arm and deep into my chest.

“You’re underdressed, kitten,” he breathes into my palm, before releasing my hand and collapsing back into the chair.

I nod curtly and look away, searching the room for… _ah hah._

My legs are still a little shaky, but I make my way to the coffee table and retrieve my collar and leash. There’s a pleasant jolt in my stomach as I admire his guns for a moment. I can’t help myself. I love how dangerous he is. I love seeing him arrive home, the hungry look in predatory eyes. I love it best when he’s still up to his elbows in blood, when it’s spattered over his face and neck and I can taste his kill on his lips, feel the sticky smears on my body as he takes me roughly.

When I turn and look up, it’s like he’s read my mind – or, more likely, the flush of colour spreading up my body and across my chest. His body language is relaxed; sprawled in the armchair like a big cat, legs loosely stretched apart, one hand resting casually on the arm of the chair and the other supporting his head.

“Come here.”

I step forward, grinning, knowing what’s coming next.

“Nuh uh uh,” he wags a scolding finger at me and then points to the floor between his feet, smiling at our little ritual. I don’t call him ‘sir’ much these days – too formal, too awkward for what our relationship has evolved into – but still the little reminders of my place in his world. “You know better.”

I fold the leash and place it and the collar between my teeth before dropping to my hands and knees. I’m thankful; my legs have almost recovered but they’re weak, and I crawl to him more steadily than I would have walked. I drop the lengths of leather into his lap and settle on my haunches in the space between his feet, my knees almost touching the lower edge of the chair.

It’s not necessary, and we both know that as he fastens the collar round my neck and clips the leash to the D-ring, wrapping the end around his palm a couple of times. Even if I get the chance, I have no desire to be anywhere he isn’t. I’ll follow him out on jobs if he ever lets me, if I can learn to be useful to him in that way. Without needing to say it aloud, we know I’ll never run and that this is just an aesthetic now, part of the game we play – he gets a useful handhold, I enjoy the feeling of leather on my skin.

I kneel up and place my hands on his thighs just above his knees, rubbing them up his legs to his belt buckle as I lean forward and place a kiss on his trousers, right over his growing hardness. I hear him sigh contentedly and I glance up; he’s let his head loll back, both hands now resting loosely on the arms of the chair. My tongue wets my lips as I make quick work of the fastenings and free him. I kiss his length as passionately as I kiss his mouth, with gentle sucks and long licks, tasting and tickling, encouraging him to become fully awake.

What follows can only be described as worship. My entire being is focused on him; the depth that makes his breath catch in his chest, the pace that makes him dig his fingers into the armchair, the pressure points that make his toes screw into the floor. Finally, the practiced flick of my tongue that has his hand tangling in my short hair, nails scraping against my scalp, fingers gripping tightly, urging me on. If I’ve timed this right, it will push him over the edge – 

He doesn’t let me. I can feel his body thrumming beneath my touch but he’s firmly in control, and the hand in my hair is painfully tight and holding me still. The seconds are getting longer and I know he’s easing himself back, not wanting this to end so soon. I’m looking up, lips stretched around him, patiently waiting. His chest rises and falls, pulling his shirt tight at the buttons as he takes a deep breath, then he looks down at me and groans; the deep, guttural sound reverberating through him.

Both his hands move to clasp the sides of my face, thumbs gently stroking the edges of my taught lower lip. His gaze takes in every detail, and I wonder if I look as perfect as I feel in this moment. His eyes meet mine and I press the tip of my tongue to his underside and trace upwards, slowly and firmly.

I feel the muscles in his thighs twitch a split second before he jerks his hips forward, pushing my head down at the same time. Several sharp thrusts jab at the back of my throat and then he pauses, impaling me so deeply the tip of my nose brushes against his torso. I gag on him, unable to breath, eyes watering, and through the blur I can see him roll his head back, savouring the feeling.

I’m ready for the brusque way he throws me off, and I recover quickly as he stands. The walk to the bedroom is still a half-crawl, half-drag – he never slows his pace and I’m simply not built to move faster on all-fours, no matter how often we’ve done this over the last half year. The worst bit is the stairs to the floor above, which he takes two at a time, and the hard-wood edges of each step bruise my thighs as I scramble after him.

The door closes behind us and I watch him undress – the noose of the tie dropping to the floor, swiftly followed by a crumpled shirt. I bite my lower lip; the lack of his usual meticulous routine is telling.

He pulls me up by the leash, one hand on my nape as he pushes me to the bed, pressing my face into the charcoal grey linen. His nails scrape down my ass cheek and then he delivers a stinging blow with his palm. My yelp is muffled, but I interpret the request and position my feet wider apart, toes curling into the carpet for grip, the edge of the bed digging into my legs just above the knee.

He tests me with a finger, and I know he has no doubts that I’m ready; he just wants me to feel how ready I am, reaffirm that he’s the only one who can make my body respond this way. I need this, and I need him to make me feel like this, so I grind myself back against him, silently and shamelessly begging.

The calm before the storm lasts a few seconds and then his fingers find their near-permanent bruises on my hips and he plunges into me. I arch back, ecstasy spilling from my lips as I feel whole again. His tempo is rough and mechanical, the room filling with the sounds of his hips slamming into me and the primal grunts of the predator I belong to. A hand finds my throat and he uses it for leverage, exaggerating the arch of my back until I’m sure he’s going to break my spine, but I can’t bring myself to care.

He curses angrily, pulling away and I make a frustrated noise at the loss of contact. I climb onto the bed and turn to see him stepping out of his suit trousers. His boxers are silk, a purple so dark it’s almost black, his legs perfectly in proportion with his lean, muscular upper body. Sometimes, like now, I wonder what his ass looks like – I’ve never seen him fully naked. It’s one of the unspoken rules; I’m almost always naked in his presence, but he never is.

The thought is brushed aside as he lunges towards me and then feints away, grinning playfully. The smile I shoot back is more a snarl as I realise the game has changed. I deftly unclip the leash from my collar so I don’t get tangled in it, and manoeuvre myself into a crouch.

When he lunges again, I hop backwards and to the side, but it’s another feint. The next couple times, I keep still, watching his eyes, trying to predict when to move. He prowls round the edge of the bed, and I keep turning to face him. A minute change in his facial expression before the next lunge, and I propel myself towards the foot of the bed.

I’ve read him wrong, but he reads me perfectly and he’s ready for me, shifting his weight easily to his other foot and circling back round. I can’t stop my forward momentum and I crash into him, his shoulder smashing into me just below my ribs and winding me hard. His arms are around my waist, and he throws me bodily back on to the bed. I flip quickly onto my stomach, coughing, reaching for the headboard, but he has both hands around one ankle and he pulls me back towards him. I twist in his grip and kick out with my free leg, catching him a glancing blow to the chest.

Then he’s crawling back on top of me, knee spreading my not unwilling legs, hands placed either side of my head and watching with amusement as I gasp for breath. After I manage to inhale a few shaky lungfuls, his mouth is on mine, lips mashing against teeth with his force. I return the kiss with equal fervour, parting my lips and submitting totally. He rests his hips between my legs and I push up against him, lifting one hand to run my nails down his back and placing the other on his cheek, firmly running my thumb along his jaw.

He’s stealing my air, swallowing my needy whimpers, an arm snaking underneath my shoulders to bring my chest tightly against his as he thrusts into me once more. The rhythm is slower, smoother, but still achingly hard, as if he’ll never be deep enough inside me. I bring my legs up around his hips, pulling him into me, and the kiss turns to shared pants of effort, foreheads pressed together, eyes locked.

He ducks his head to trail nips and sucks down my neck and across my chest, and I let my head fall back and my eyes close as his teeth find one nipple, then the other. These are not the playful bites of a rough lover; these are meant to mark and bruise, his sharp, feral fangs digging deep enough to draw blood to the skin. My nails bite into his shoulders in return, dragging downwards, less an objection and more imploring him to continue. 

The velvety friction between my legs is driving me closer, and I manage to gasp a request for permission. I’m grateful when it’s granted quickly, breathed into the hollow of my neck, and where others might quicken in excitement, he patiently maintains his movement until my body tenses in ecstatic release.

He lets me ride it out, and only when my twitching subsides does he shift position, resting back on his knees and pulling me into sitting position, both hands moving to my ass to hold me steady. I lock my ankles behind him and my arms around his neck, grinding down into his sharp upward thrusts. His lips are parted, baring even, white teeth, his pupils so large his eyes are totally black, a thin sheen of sweat across his brow. I bury my face in his neck, tasting his salty skin, feeling him shudder more and more violently beneath me.

He snarls as he comes, fingers clawing into my flesh, the warm, wet mark of his ownership flooding me. We remain joined for a long, blissful moment, him too sensitive to move right away, me wanting never to leave this moment.

Eventually he loosens his grip and I fall back onto the bed, arms covering my eyes, satisfied for now. He follows, adjusting the waistband of his underwear and coming to rest on his back next to me. We’re both panting with exertion, sticky skin just touching where my elbow brushes against his upper arm.

I’m cooling rapidly as my sweat evaporates and I shiver a little, rolling onto my side away from him. My mouth is dry and I reach for a glass of water left thoughtfully on the nightstand. I take a few sips and then pass it over my shoulder. I feel movement behind me as Victor sits up and takes the glass, the sounds of him swallowing large gulps noisy in the quiet room. When he returns it, it’s empty, and I’m annoyed that I didn’t drink more.

I replace the glass back on the table and relax on my side, listening to his quieting breaths. I don’t need to see him right now; I’ll only want to touch him, and it’s too soon – I’ve learned that lesson the hard way. The almost silence is comfortable, his presence is comforting, and I enjoy the temporary quelling of my ever-present neediness. It’ll only be a few minutes, but it’s heaven to me.

I reach up and grab a pillow, stuffing it beneath my head and stretching out my arm under it. A twinge in my shoulder makes me wince, but other than sensitive nipples and heated soreness between my thighs, everything else seems to be fine. I feel like I’ve gotten away lightly.

Speaking of my thighs, I can feel dampness starting to trickle. I sigh heavily but press them together tightly, and awkwardly swing my legs off the bed. The movement shifts things and I realise I’ll have to move quickly to avoid making a mess. Keeping as tense as I can, I dash the few paces to the en-suite bathroom to clean up.

When I emerge a few minutes later, Victor has his eyes closed and is lying starfished across the covers. I take a moment to admire him; the sweat has evaporated and his pale skin is matte and velvety, the glow of the lamplight highlighting muscle, and shadows emphasising his lean physique. _Beautiful._

I wander to the side of the bed, arms folded across my chest and eyebrow raised in mock disapproval at his splayed form. My tongue clicks against the roof of my mouth, and he flicks open one eye to look up at me, sighing exaggeratedly before lifting both his hands behind his head. There’s space on the bed next to him now, and I curl into it, facing away from him – I think it’s probably still too soon to touch him.

“You know pets aren’t allowed on the furniture.” He muses, after several minutes of comfortable silence in which I’m feeling deliciously relaxed.

“Bite me.” I reply lazily.

He rolls over, draping one arm across me and threading the other underneath me, pulling me tight to his chest and then sinking his teeth hard into the muscle where my neck meets my shoulder. I push my ass back against him in reply, grinding a little. The man has stamina; I can feel he’s almost good to go again. I realise I’m not far off myself – I know the second fuck will be sore and raw, different from (but just as incredible as) the first.

His mouth releases my flesh, and his hands cup my breasts, squeezing gently, palms pressing my bruised nipples hard into my chest. “What was it you used to do, before you were my pretty little kitten?” 

I groan as his hands start moving downwards. “Really? _That’s_ what you want to talk about right now?” 

“That’s why I asked, yes.” His short nails dig in to my stomach, scratching upwards to my ribs.

I try to think through the re-blossoming arousal. “I was an engineer. For WayneTech. Computer stuff. Please don’t stop.” His fingers have travelled back down to my hips and he’s pressing against the bruises, creeping closer to where my thighs meet.

But his hands do stop, and he tucks his head down, resting his forehead on my shoulder. I can tell he’s thinking.

“Godsdamnit, Victor!” I wriggle in his grip and manage to roll over, pushing him onto his back and climbing to straddle his hips. The look of surprise on his face is priceless as I grab his wrists and pin them above his head. Our noses are almost touching, and I snarl at him.

“I think I need tech support for my next job.” He murmurs, and I can’t help but look completely perplexed.

“But you’re right.” His lips form a cruel sneer, and I feel his arms tense beneath my hands as he lifts them from where they’re pinned to the bed. 

“Now is not the time.” He grunts and I lean forward with my full weight, but he’s strong. Violently, he breaks my grip on him and twists his hips, flipping me off and onto my back. 

“Right now, I need to teach you some fucking patience.” He’s on top of me and our positions are reversed; my arms are pinned above my head in one of his hands and there’s no way I can escape. I grin and snap my teeth at him. He moves his free hand to my throat, his thumb on my jaw, holding me still so he can kiss me, his tongue dominating my mouth.

We part for a moment and his eyes burn. I lick his bottom lip and then bite down on it gently, teasing him.

He growls. “Round two, kitten.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks! See y'all soon. ;)


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